As a child, I frequently had a very scary dream about fire
– nothing specific, just fire, but I'd always wake up breathless and afraid.
More often than not, I'd get out of bed to go to the window to calm down. For
the first few seconds of looking out the window, the view would be slightly
different, still a country road, but the road would be on the wrong side, like
our house had moved to the other side of the road while I slept.

This was a little confusing, naturally, but in the
post-fire-dream state, it wasn't too unusual to my sleepy mind, and it would
change back to the real view after a few seconds.

In my mid-twenties, between marriages, I briefly dated an
Irishman, who took me to a small town here in Ontario for a visit to his uncle.
The place felt familiar immediately, and one of the first things I did was don
some beautifully embroidered, leather, ladies riding gloves. They fit perfectly,
like they were made for me, and Jack's uncle said they had sort of come with the
place when he'd bought it long ago.

I explored the house and the land surrounding it. There was a
depression in the corner of an adjoining small field, where Jack's uncle said a
barn had burned down about a hundred years ago. This house was on the opposite
side of the road to the one where I'd grown up, but certainly not in the same
town, probably about sixty to seventy-five miles away.

I'd get goosebumps in certain parts of the house and grounds,
and would happily have stayed there to live. I felt right at home. Looking out
the upstairs bedroom window, I saw the view that I'd always seen as a child
after the fire dream.

Afterwards, Jack and I went back to Toronto to visit his
father. I was very tired, and lay down for a brief nap, which turned out to be
more of a meditation state than an actual nap. You know what I mean, you can
still hear things, but can't really respond...

As I came out of this state, I grabbed the nearest pen and
paper, and this poem came flowing out. At the time I signed it 'Jessica Winters,
maybe now I can rest in peace.'

Now, I know there are those out there that think the idea of
reincarnation is demonic, but I am not demonic, and this is a genuine personal
experience that carried over from childhood into that moment.

Can anyone explain it, without referring to reincarnation?

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